


My Heart in Your Hands

by lowez



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley has a slight hand obsession, Fanart, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, M/M, Rimming, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:41:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21881173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lowez/pseuds/lowez
Summary: "Hold it, please. Hold it, hold me, just once more"What a greedy thing Crowley was. Give him a hand, and he’ll be wanting your whole heart.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 82
Collections: Oh Come All Ye Sinful! A Depraved Holiday Exchange 2019





	My Heart in Your Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lawyerly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lawyerly/gifts).



Aziraphale had beautiful hands.

The trimmed and polished nails, the plump and delicate fingers, the always soft and inviting palm — Crowley let out a small sigh when one of those hands came to rest on the linen cloth, just a few inches away from his own. He stared at it.

The first time Crowley noticed the beauty of those hands was at the Garden. Oh, the way they would wield the flaming sword, in all their strength and might. _Magnificent_ , he had thought. No demon should have this kind of thoughts about an angel, but who could blame him? Besides, he was just terrible at this job. 

He was so terrible at it, actually, that at some point he slithered his way to the wall and stood beside his enemy. The angel’s hands wriggled nervously in front of him, such a sight for Crowley. And it was through a missing sword that Crowley realized the true extent of the appeal of those hands — not only the ability to hold, but to _give_.

(Oh, how Crowley longed to be held, to be _given_ ) 

And then came the first storm. 

Crowley shivered at the first thunder, which sounded awfully like divine wrath. He felt cold all over as the cloth he wore got wet and hung heavily to his body. Feeling soaked and really miserable, Crowley failed to notice the ruffling of feathers beside him, and barely registered the absence of rain pouring on his cold skin. 

What he _did_ notice and register was the sudden warmth radiating from his right. He stumbled a bit closer and caught a nervous sideway glance from the angel, followed by a shy smile and a barely perceptible satisfied sigh. And just like that, Crowley wasn’t cold anymore. In fact, he felt very, very warm. Looking again at those hands, he found them peacefully resting, clasped together, by the angel’s front — just like they ought to be. 

So they stood side by side, in what felt like an almost embrace. They fit perfectly together.

(And they continue to fit, sitting across a table in one of the posh restaurants that the angel fancied so much)

“Is anything the matter, my dear?”

Crowley was suddenly brought back to present time, to the hand on top of the linen cloth. He — very unwillingly — tore his eyes from it and looked at Aziraphale, that seemed about to start his second piece of dessert. The angel beamed at him, but there was a glint of something in his eyes. His smile was a bit too close to a grin. A second later, he slowly arched his eyebrows. _Oh, right. He asked me a question_  
  
“ ‘S nothing, angel.” Crowley slouched further down on his seat, trying to look cool. Gain a bit of dignity. “Just thinking”

Aziraphale gave him a knowing look, but seemed satisfied enough to turn back to his overly decorated piece of cake. Crowley was back to his usual “non-creepily watching my first and only love eating”. It lasted some good two minutes — then the angel took a napkin to his mouth, and Crowley felt obligated to follow it as it came to rest on the table once again. When did he become so obsessed? 

Until then, he had paid as much attention to Aziraphale’s hands as he did to the rest of him (which was _a lot_ , but at least it was proportionate). So why was he so suddenly mesmerized by the delicate way they grasped the napkin, or by the gentle grip on the spoon? Crowley groaned at himself. Of course he knew _why_.

It began at the night of the aborted apocalypse. At that blasted bus.

They had just climbed the steps when Crowley felt something hot touching the skin of his hand. It was a warmth that grew and spread through his arm and chest, right into that damned heart of his. Now loudly drumming in his ears, the blasted thing made it impossible for his body to suppress the startled _whine_ that escaped him.

They sat in the same bus seat, so close that Crowley could feel the warmth radiating from Aziraphale. Not that Crowley thought much about it, too distracted by their intertwined fingers, resting on one of the angel's plump tights. (Was that a dream? Or did he actually die and was sent to his version of Paradise?) Aziraphale squeezed his hand (Was he trying to prove it was real? How would he have known?) He didn’t let go. The angel provided no explanation, and Crowley definitely wouldn't demand one. Crowley also didn’t let go.

( _Oh. I love it._ )

So neither let go. Not when they exited the bus, or when they entered Crowley’s flat — not when Crowley quietly said “ _I’ll go take a nap_ ”. Oh, they held hands while standing in front of Crowley’s bed, while Aziraphale miracled them in soft, comfortable pajamas. (Wait. Did the angel just _miracle_ his clothes off?)

(Was he as desperate as Crowley?)

“I hope you don’t mind, my dear”

Crowley didn’t, at all.

Their hands were still locked together as they climbed onto bed and miracled themselves covered. A snap of Crowley’s fingers, and his glasses were on the bedside table. Laying on their sides, they stared into each other eyes — the six thousand years of hopes and doubts and _love_ were laid bare. 

No words were needed, but Aziraphale still graced him with “I’m with you"

“I know”, was Crowley’s answer. _I’ve always known_ , was what he didn’t say. And after a moment, “Just... Close your eyes with me, angel” 

( _Stay with me. Let me hold you, so I know you’re not gone)_

They woke up together, tangled in each other.

After that night, holding hands became an habit — an unspoken agreement between them. During a walk in the park, on their way for dinner, going to bed. But it was always Aziraphale who’d start it, never Crowley. How could he — a demon — demand such a thing? No, better not ruin it. (You go too fast for him. Don’t ask for too much) But a " _Take what you want, angel, I’ll be fine_ " would easily become a " _Hold it, please. Hold it, hold me, just once more_ "

What a greedy thing Crowley was. Give him a hand, and he’ll be wanting your whole heart.

So he stared across a table, longing to be worthy. To be able to reach out and say the things he wanted to say, _needed_ to say. ( _I love you. I’ve loved you for millennia_ ) But how could he ever? He told himself he’d take what that the angel would give him, nothing more. ( _Don’t run from me again, angel. I’ll be good_ )

And as if sensing his longing (which was probably the case), the hand on the table turned palm up. An invitation? _Don’t be silly._ But above it, the angel’s gaze was on him, looking directly into his eyes, even through the thick sunglasses. It said a lot of things in a language Crowley was sure he had long forgotten.

Crowley cleared his throat. “Finished already, angel?” He gave his best impression of a smirk. _Keep it cool, keep it cool._

Aziraphale licked his lips, but made no move for his third and last piece of dessert. His hand was still there, palms up and waiting.

“I’m hungry for something else, dear. That is, if you’re amenable”

 _Oh._ Crowley wasn’t anywhere near as drunk as he needed to be to have this sort of conversation with the angel, at least not with words. So he just nodded rather stupidly and tried to convey his interest in his poorly concealed blush — he also _whined_ , to make his point clear

“Would you like to indulge me, my darling?”

Crowley reached for Aziraphale’s hand on the table so quickly he almost startled himself. Aziraphale only smiled wider. _That bloody bastard._

  
  


The exit from the restaurant was made in such a rush that Crowley just miracled their coats on them. 

They held hands all the way back to the bookshop (and, for the first time, Aziraphale didn’t complain about the speed). They had to let go once the Bentley came to a stop, but the warmth form Aziraphale’s hand never left Crowley’s. How could it, if the angel was waiting for him on the other side with an extended palm, so they would walk in together? 

They didn’t stop to take off their coats. Aziraphale led the way to the back of the shop, to the stairs to second floor, to the bedroom. To _their_ bed. They had shared it so much by now that it was undeniably _theirs_ : the plush patterned comforter, the linen sheets, the excess of pillows, the softness of the mattress. 

They sat at the border of the bed, slightly turned to face each other. It was not the first time they were to share it, but Aziraphale’s proposal from earlier weighted on them and gave new meaning to this whole act. What were they to each other now? Were there words to describe it? 

Crowley felt himself turning into a mess of atoms, barely held together — the only anchor was the hand in his (But was it enough? Crowley was truly a greedy thing) Just as he was convinced he would fall apart and dissolve into nothing, other hand came to rest on his cheek. His spiraling mind came to a halt. He released a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Aziraphale was looking at him, the softest of smiles decorating his face. It felt strangely… Intimate. As if some secret was being told between them. The thumb stroking Crowley’s cheek moved with such care that his heart fluttered in his chest. Crowley was so happy he giggled a bit ( _Is it okay to laugh? I hope I don’t ruin it_ ). He was trembling.

“Can I take away your glasses?”

Crowley’s “ _yes_ ” came like a whine. Gentle fingers brushed his cheekbones and what felt like his last barrier came tumbling down as his glasses were removed.

“Is this okay, darling?” So much kindness. It emanated in waves from Aziraphale, and Crowley drowned on them. 

“C-can I kiss you?”, Crowley stuttered.

Their kiss was nothing like Crowley expected. It wasn’t hungry and desperate, full of six thousand years of yearning. It wasn’t wet and sloppy, anticipating the night to come. It was chaste. Soft. So sweet that it hurt a bit. How could Crowley have predicted the way their lips would fit together, lightly brushing, the most beautiful of pecks? It made Crowley so giddy that he giggled a bit. ( _Again, you soft idiot?_ )

It wasn't like they haven't kissed before. There have been greeting kisses on the cheeks, praising kisses on the hands, farewell kisses on the mouth (if it was a trend, who was Crowley to evade them?) And, after the Armageddidn't, there were kisses with less social meaning: on the forehead, on the nape of the neck, on top of the belly, on the inside of the wrist. " _I care for you_ " was what they said. Crowley adored them.

Their first (official) kiss managed to be even better. And if the second one was beyond measure, was because both of them were smiling with poorly contained love. When Aziraphale tilted Crowley's head and made way into the demon's mouth with his tongue, it started resembling the exact type of kiss Crowley have been dreaming of. Crowley's free hand was clutching the angel's covered arm. Aziraphale took their linked hands to his chest, so that Crowley could feel his heart. 

It was beating as fast as his own.

Suddenly, Crowley realized that he was feeling way too hot, and they were wearing too many clothes. He raised his hand to miracle them free of the fabrics, but was stopped by Aziraphale.

"Allow me, my dear"

Aziraphale's hands got inside Crowley's open coat. They went first on his chest, then on his shoulders, until they came sliding down his arms, forcing the coat to slide down with them. Then, the angel proceeded on removing Crowley's arms from the sleeves, always careful and gentle. Crowley felt just like one of Aziraphale's books, so delicately handled. After, Aziraphale went for the buttons of his jacket. He shed that piece and the t-shirt beneath it from Crowley's lithe body.

Then, Aziraphale kneeled on the floor in front of Crowley. He took one of the demon's feet on top of his tight and began unlacing the expensive shoes. By that moment, all that Crowley could do was follow the movements of those plump finger — it was all that kept him sane in face of the adoring gaze he was being showered with.

"Please lay down, darling"

Without thinking twice, Crowley scrambled to the center of the bed, laying his head on the soft pillows by the headboard. Aziraphale took off his own shoes and socks before following. And that was when Crowley had those beautiful soft hands on him. _Finally_. Aziraphale sighted in utter delight, as if it was him the one being indulged.

But instead of going for Crowley's belt, he started taking off his own coat, and Crowley realised just how vulnerable he felt in only his pants, with Aziraphale staying all dressed and proper. As the jacket also came off, he realized that it wasn't a bad feeling at all. When Aziraphale started working on the buttons of his vest, Crowley decided he actually liked it very much.

"Let 'em on" was the first request Crowley made that night. He immediately regretted it, as a little voice in his head said _You idiot, don't ask, just take what you get_. But whatever else it might have said was quickly drowned by the proud smile decorating Aziraphale's face. The angel rolled up his sleeves. Crowley nearly discorporated on spot. 

(Well, apparently Crowley had a thing for forearms too)

The demon reached up to grab any part of Aziraphale he could, to bring him down so they could kiss, so he could let a bit of his feelings out before he would _burst_. Aziraphale’s hands went to Crowley’s hair, tugging gently, making him groan into his mouth. Then the angel’s lips started travelling down, to Crowley’s throat, to his pert nipples, to the flat surface of his stomach. His hands reached the snake belt.

With the sliding down of his tight jeans, his Effort jumped forward, finally freed. (Oh fuck, he had completely forgotten he’d made one) Aziraphale apparently paid it no mind, too distracted on completing his task. Every inch of revealed skin was covered by Aziraphale’s lips, caressed by his hands, praised by his blessed tongue. Crowley had no other choice but to writhe beneath him, clutching the pillows so that his traitors hands would not find fluffy white hair and guide it. (Better not hurry his picky angel in his feast)

“You’re doing very well, my love”, Aziraphale purred. 

He kissed the inside of the demon’s knees and made his way up his tights, in the most sweet torture Crowley had know. Then his mouth reached his cock. Crowley couldn’t suppress a loud moan. Aziraphale hummed approvingly, as he lapped at the member. The moment Aziraphale took it all in his mouth, Crowley lost control of his hands, that tangled itselfs in soft curls.

“I won’t last, angel”, he could feel himself reaching the edge of pleasure. “ _Please_ ” 

He didn’t know what he was begging for. It was probably for more, he decided, as Aziraphale’s attentions went lower, past his bollocks, spreading his buttocks. Crowley sighted as he felt a warm kiss against his rim. He tightened his fingers in Aziraphale’s hair, that moaned against him in return. Crowley watched wide-eyed as the angel smiled. Heart drumming in his years, his head fell against the pillows.

Something warm started proding inside him, gently spreading his hole. _Oh_. Slurping sounds filled the room, followed by the moans of a very satisfied angel — the same sounds one could find during a very appreciated feast. The whole idea of the act was enough for Crowley to lose all control he had and, when he felt a finger joining the skilled tongue, he basically screamed.

“I need you inside me”, he stated, rather bluntly

Aziraphale unbuttoned his fliers and took in hand his own thick Effort, lining himself with Crowley’s entrance. He brought his hand to caress the demon’s cheek, looking into his eyes. Crowley gave him the barest of nods, and he entered in a long stroke. “You take me so good”, he murmured. Crowley made an silent “o” with his mouth as Aziraphale set the slowest of paces, dragging his cock in the demon’s walls and pushing it back to the hilt. Suddenly, Crowley felt too exposed, too vulnerable. 

"Please, _please_ , angel, take 'em off", Crowley cried underneath him, "Need to feel you"

He didn't need to explain. With a snap of fingers, Aziraphale’s clothes were gone and his skin was at his reach, naked for his touch. He clutched greedily to the back muscles, absorbed the warmth that came from joining their fronts. He raked his fingers gently, in what was almost a caress. The thrusts became more frantic, and Crowley fell down on the pillows again. Aziraphale reached for his hands, Every curve of him screamed "generosity" and they all fit perfectly around Crowley's edges. 

“Come with me, my love”

Whiteness exploded in Crowley’s vision as he came. Aziraphale followed right after, but he barely registered it as he kissed the angel through it. 

The morning sun invaded their bedroom. 

Crowley woke up first, still feeling the post effects of the previous night. He enjoyed this rare occasion to watch Aziraphale peacefully sleeping. It was cold outside, but all he felt was the warmth from their intertwined hands. He stirred a bit in his pajamas (probably the angel’s doing) until he felt drowsily moving arms encircling his chest.

“I’ll hold you forever, my love. For as much as you’ll have me”

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for the lovely Tanya!  
> Happy Holidays! And I hope you'll enjoy the fluff!
> 
> This is my first fic in more than 6 years, and my first one in English, so I apologize for any mistakes!


End file.
